Joseph M. Gerace
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>Oh
>What am i running for? Where to?Yes, to catch the bus and all, butWhy? I can’t get drunk anymoreThese ferrets munch my bed, my Oh, my mailman’s a piss less than dead. What’s the point, and where’s there to learn?So, I’ve resolved to sing-a-long to the streetGive up the fight, bound to pick up its…
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>crazy girl
>turns away, smiling and afraid? how strongare those skinny legs, pogoing mossy hillssuch pure cane sugar and round classical wale can you see her now? dimpled aspect & exploited reflections dancing onface so vivid, banking hermetic perfections offthe neon (choose, it makes you bigger) walls erase concavity, release it, swept underthe rug & tectonic how you movein the…
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>Scene 1: Speeding atop commuter subway, backwards, uncompromisingly peaceful
>The candy flowers fall from somewhere P cannot seeThis image he has also stolenLong ago, as well as the ideaHe rides the speedy thing backwards& in the mornings, everyone at angles janglingFor their morning seat, how he laughedTo himself, like there was someone withinEarshot to receive his hypothetically boisterous laughterBut he would ride them backwardLike, he…
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>Skylight
>Too many tired cop cars filled with tired copsHands spread over buzz-cuts or grazing myPapers, some other day’s work, filthy littleCamera tricks cheapen real color& the near-white screen, resolution so radicalSo high now, for what? Black tire after black tire On parade, irony manicured and concaveWith privilege assuming their cult, a fraternal wallJust. Just as. Just, as I…
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>improv for the problems, the playoffs & the plumbing
>He got hit, helmet to his blindsideAnd crumbled for some other purposeWeek-old Italian bread crushed over fresh greens His mind, momentarily jellied, babied, pureeProjects a shushing squirt of hot butter, candiedProphesying and rhythmic luster lock Look up, from the pain and clapped passionsLickable bright, Airbus A380 streaming through the skyCotton and confetti now, a graffiti of…
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>improv for drawn sources
>The river never waitsCutting, though many otherNames exist, rock and bonePollute the pure, Season’sUnwashed hands deign pietyEvery stoic stroke wears awayEach push a fresh argumentOne hesitates suggesting fireBut Frost, these things movingA child pressed to crawlWill crawl upon your turningThrough ears, the river neverWaits and morals never makes.
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>improv for central nodes
>The death tollIs unknown, no manCan lift such heavinessMerely observingOne must becomeHis hyperthrobbing heartOne must becomeLarge and liftAnd lift, howHigh will you imagineThe death toll rises.
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>George Plimpton Headache
>I am sure I will die young hammerbang hammerbash hammCrackWhat cruel carpenter makes love only near the reclinedAnd I know, George Plimpton was never kidnappedIn the packed back seat of a Bentley carThought having read his obituary I preferPhilip and his pounding contrast, its striation…
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>Hyphen, Mustela
>How that lip gloss returnedyour step-down’s thick honeyed haze& i enter, cut-uppictures in hand-built frames, hand-me-downtable & a glass bowl for keys: It was hereyou mentioned the needlestuck in yr best friend’s armhis sad soundtrack personanon grata; up at the podiumin yr house slippers, nudean audience adorned: At the stolen breakfast booth inyr railroad kitchenette, baptized&…
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>South Beach, 10:29 p.m., 12/28/2009
>The moon reflecting off Do not forget how much I Abhor my love for you Gathering dust on yr shelf As you once collected roses Red petals dripping Impossible pollen Each flower so beautiful I’ve seen their shapes cut out by a star On one of the planks above my head.
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